


Training

by TheCookieOfDoom



Series: Revocation [2]
Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Aftercare, Alternate Universe, BDSM, Deepthroating, M/M, Oral Sex, Rough Oral Sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-05
Updated: 2020-08-05
Packaged: 2021-03-05 19:14:07
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,099
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25720399
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheCookieOfDoom/pseuds/TheCookieOfDoom
Summary: It all started because of a popsicle. Stiles was eating a popsicle to cool off in the summer heat, and decided maybe he would be a little juvenile. He waited until he caught Mitch's eye to start licking and sucking at the popsicle as obscenely as he could manage, sugary red syrup dripping all down his chin. Mitch had rolled his eyes and smiled; it wasn't exactly sexy but it was fun, and Stiles tried to suck the popsicle all the way into his mouth, only to gag and quickly pull it back out. Stiles looked back at Mitch sheepishly to find him staring back with a look of consideration."I'm going to train you to deep throat," he said casually, and Stiles choked.
Relationships: Mitch Rapp/Stiles Stilinski
Series: Revocation [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1649110
Comments: 5
Kudos: 38





	Training

**Author's Note:**

> Minor content warning: Mitch is a little bit mean to Stiles in the second sex scene. It's not shown but they did talk about it beforehand, Stiles asked him to do it, and everybody are consenting adults, etc. 
> 
> Also I want to say that this installment is earlier in their relationship, while the previous one (The Seminar) is several years into it.

It all started because of a popsicle. Stiles was eating a popsicle to cool off in the summer heat, and decided maybe he would be a little juvenile. He waited until he caught Mitch's eye to start licking and sucking at the popsicle as obscenely as he could manage, sugary red syrup dripping all down his chin. Mitch had rolled his eyes and smiled; it wasn't exactly sexy but it was fun, and Stiles tried to suck the popsicle all the way into his mouth, only to gag and quickly pull it back out. Stiles looked back at Mitch sheepishly to find him staring back with a look of consideration.

"I'm going to train you to deep throat," he said casually, and Stiles choked. 

***

They were starting easy tonight, just testing the waters. Stiles kneeled on a firm pillow to protect his knees, and kept his hands clasped at his back. He was completely naked but Mitch didn't bother undressing. He usually didn't for scenes like this; he stayed distant, only touching Stiles as much as necessary. As much as he  _ deserved _ . 

"Open your mouth, that’s it." 

Mitch caressed Stiles' bottom lip with the pad of his thumb, then pressed two fingers into his mouth, pressing down on his tongue. 

"How much do you think you can take?" He asked. It was a rhetorical question; he already knew how far he could push Stiles. He skirted around those limits for now, thrusting his fingers in and out of Stiles' mouth, just deep enough to make his eyes water. Stiles made a beautiful sight. 

When he pulled his fingers out of Stiles' mouth he sucked in a few quick breaths. 

"Don't start with that now, darling," Mitch chided, "the fun is only just beginning."

"Sorry," Stiles mumbled, working his tongue in his mouth. Mitch pat his cheek—leaving a slick smear of saliva across his skin—and finally unbuckled his belt. Stiles squirmed in anticipation, watching as Mitch opened his pants and pulled out his cock, already hard and leaking. Stiles couldn’t wait to have the weight of it resting on his tongue. 

Intent on doing well, Stiles straightened his posture, opened his mouth, and looked up at Mitch through his eyelashes. Perfectly open and obedient. 

"Very good," Mitch praised, pleased that he didn't have to remind Stiles to fix his posture... he would see how long that lasted, before he had Stiles falling apart at his feet. 

Mitch pressed the head of his cock against Stiles' soft lips, enjoying the sensation of Stiles' warm, damp breaths against his skin. Stiles' coyly laved his tongue against it, but did no more. He wouldn't fall into one of Mitch’s traps so easily. Or so early. 

"Well, what are you waiting for?" Mitch asked. Stiles didn't—couldn't—respond. He pulled his brows down and pouted at Mitch sweetly. Mitch knew what he needed:  _ permission _ . Mitch grinned and put his hand on the back of Stiles' head, pulling him forward just enough for his cock to slip into his mouth. That was all the permission Stiles needed. 

He began sucking in earnest, hollowing his cheeks just slightly as he worked Mitch over with his tongue. While pleasurable, that wasn't the point of tonight's activities. Mitch let Stiles have his fun for a few moments, enjoying the feel of his mouth, before urging Stiles for more. 

"Don't tease," Mitch ordered, pulling Stiles' closer. A gentle prompt, and the only one he would get if he kept this up. 

Stiles stopped playing. He didn't want to get in trouble tonight. Inhaling a deep breath through his nose, he closed his eyes tight and took as much of Mitch into his mouth as he could manage. When the tip just touched the back of his throat, he gagged and jerked back. 

"Not bad," Mitch said, watching Stiles gasp. "I think you can do better, though."

He waited for Stiles to—mostly—catch his breath. Stiles was gorgeous when Mitch pulled him back up, his lips already red and swollen, his eyelashes wet. Not crying yet, but getting there. 

Stiles put his mouth back on Mitch’s cock and pushed down as far as he could go again, this time sticking it out for several seconds longer. Mitch stroked the back of his neck affectionately, not applying any pressure, until Stiles had to jerk away again. 

“You’re not trying hard enough, sweetheart.”

“S-sorry, I’m sorry,” Stiles choked.

“Prove it.” 

Mitch tightened his grip on the back of Stiles’ neck. Gone was the tender caressing; he pulled Stiles forward and firmly held him in place, keeping time with the watch on his free hand. Stiles struggled to push through, breathing harshly through stifled gasps. He tried to lean away, relieve some of the pressure, but Mitch wouldn’t let him. 

Finally, as he reached fifteen seconds, Stiles shoved against Mitch’s thighs to get away. This time he let Stiles go. 

Mitch caught Stiles’ by his upper arms to keep him from collapsing entirely, and Stiles leaned gratefully against his legs. Mitch was the only thing keeping Stiles upright. 

“You’re doing good, Stiles,” Mitch said, carding his fingers through Stiles’ sweat-damp hair. “Do you want to keep going?” They could stop here for the night; Mitch didn’t want to push Stiles’ too far on the first run through. If he needed to stop here, then Mitch was more than fine with it. 

It took a long, almost concerning amount of time before Stiles finally nodded his assent.

Just in case—Mitch knew how Stiles was, so eager to please that he sometimes neglected his own boundaries—he asked, “Are you sure?”

“Yeah.” Stiles nuzzled Mitch’s thigh, dampening his jeans with the saliva. “I want to do this.” 

“Alright.” Mitch ran his hand through Stiles’ hair, a soothing, repetitive motion in time with his still-uneven breaths. Stiles gave one final, heavy exhale, and Mitch gently nudged Stiles back with his knee. He tilted Stiles’ chin up and said, “One more time. Let’s try for thirty seconds.” 

Stiles steeled himself. He knew he was supposed to keep his hands behind his back, but this time he rested them on Mitch’s thighs to hold himself steady. 

“Next time I’m using handcuffs,” Mitch said. He didn’t stop Stiles, though. 

Stiles closed his eyes and dug his blunt nails into Mitch’s skin as his head was once more forced down onto his cock. He inhaled beforehand and it helped a little, made him last longer before he had to gasp for breath. It didn’t stop him from gagging, when the head reached the back of his throat, and there was still so much more to go,  _ god.  _ Stiles was never going to be able to take all of it. 

_ I don’t have to take it all tonight,  _ Stiles told himself. Mitch promised. Tonight was supposed to be  _ easy.  _

_ Hah! As if anything about this is easy! Next time I’m shoving my dick down  _ his  _ throat, see how he feels about it.  _ Stiles remembered, with a hot curl of arousal in his belly, that Mitch could—and frequently did—deep throat him. Stiles wanted to be able to return the favor. 

_ Wanting  _ and  _ doing  _ were two different things, though. Stiles throat  _ ached,  _ and there was nothing even in it, yet. He was going to be hoarse for days when he finally managed to swallow Mitch’s cock. He might not even be able to speak. 

The thought had no right to be as hot as it was. 

Stiles felt Mitch’s heartbeat on his tongue, fast and strong, belying his unaffected demeanor. Tears tracked down his cheeks and his head pounded in time with his own pulse, and Mitch was holding him in place so he had nowhere to go but deeper. Stiles swallowed, hoping to alleviate the urge to gag, and heard Mitch stifle a moan above him. The hand in his hair tightened. 

When Stiles’ was finally released he made an ugly sound deep in his chest and shoved Mitch away, only succeeding in making himself fall back against the foot of the bed. 

“Get back on your knees,” Mitch ordered, using  _ that  _ voice that always made Stiles’ legs weak. He was helpless to disobey, stumbling into position as best as he could manage. Through the tears clumping his eyelashes together, he could just make out Mitch working himself over. The wet, sticky sound of Mitch stroking himself with only Stiles’ saliva to ease the friction was obscene. 

“I’m proud of you,” Mitch said, moments before hot ropes of come painted Stiles’ face. 

***

The training went on for two weeks. It wasn’t every night, Mitch wasn’t cruel. But it was enough that Stiles had a perpetually hoarse voice, and a soreness in his throat that served as a constant reminder. Once, his dad even asked him if he was coming down with something. Stiles mistakenly answered, “No, but Mitch is,” and John’s face went bright red; he knew enough about Stiles’ and Mitch’s relationship that no further questions were asked, and Stiles couldn’t look his father in the eye for three days. 

Mitch thought the whole situation was hilarious. But he also made sure to avoid John for the time being, just in case. 

Tonight neither of them were laughing. The atmosphere was heavy with anticipation; finally, they were going to reach what they’d been working towards. 

Stiles was nervous and excited in equal measure. What if he couldn’t do it? What if he  _ could?  _ Imagining what it would feel like to take all of Mitch’s cock down his throat filled his stomach with knots and butterflies. 

Kneeling with his hands at his back was familiar enough to be comforting. Mitch put him in a pair of handcuffs, but there was a length of chain between the two leather cuffs that gave him a small amount of freedom, able to pull his hands against his sides. Enough that he could reach to tap out their agreed upon signal to stop if he needed to. Stiles hoped it wouldn’t come to that.

Mitch finished checking the tightness off the cuffs to make sure they weren’t too constricting, then stood up and circled around Stiles, admiring him. Beautiful, vulnerable, and his for the taking. 

“Are you ready?”

_ I hope.  _ Stiles nodded. He didn’t come this far to back out now. 

Mitch didn’t waste any time. He freed his cock and thrust into Stiles’ open mouth. Mercifully he didn’t try to go all the way in on the first push. He let Stiles work up to it, loosen up his muscles with an easy blow job. Stiles sucked him off like he was born to it, and part of Mitch wanted to let Stiles keep at it for the rest of the night. 

When Mitch got tired of waiting, he started thrusting deeping, right up to the point that Stiles began to gag, and pulled out again. He let Stiles take a breath, then thrust back in. Again and again, he repeated the process until Stiles let his mouth go lax, his eyes hazy and wet. Mitch pulled Stiles down until he kissed the base of his cock, and held him there until he began to jerk away. Mitch let him go to breathe. 

“An acceptable first try,” he said, stroking himself while Stiles recovered. “Now, again.”

Stiles swallowed and got back into position. Mitch’s hand was heavy against the back of his skull, pulling him down, down, down, until his vision blurred with tears and his lungs ached for oxygen. Stiles’ knees slipped on the pillow from the way he squirmed, and again he jerked away, sucking in harsh gasps. 

Mitch grabbed his jaw roughly, looked at him for a moment, searching for any sign of hesitation, and said, “Again.” 

This time he didn’t go all the way, pacing himself with quick, shallow thrusts that barely brushed the back of Stiles’ throat. Stiles’ wrists were already sore from the way he pulled at his cuffs, the chain digging into his lower back, chafing his skin as it raked back and forth. He couldn’t keep still. 

Mitch abruptly pulled out for as long as it took Stiles to gasp in three heaving breaths, then thrust back into his mouth. He kept his thumb between Stiles’ back teeth to keep him from accidentally biting, and drool pooled from the corners of Stiles’ mouth. He could barely find the wherewithal to swallow when he was given the chance. 

Just as Stiles was getting used to the pace, Mitch changed the pattern. He alternated shallow and deep thrusts at random intervals that Stiles had no chance of keeping track of, and he thought it would never end, choking every time Mitch pushed too deep. 

“Breathe,” Mitch told him, pulling all the way out. Stiles crumpled at his feet. 

“I-It’s... too mu-uch... I c-ca-can’t,” he gasped, vaguely aware that he was crying. His chest ached from the force of his gasps, and he kept trying to pull his hands up to rub his throat, but the cuffs didn’t allow for that much movement. Mitch pulled his head up by his hair to meet Stiles’ eyes.

“Are you going to keep crying?" he asked, waiting for Stiles to use his safeword. Stiles sniffled pathetically and shook his head, obviously a lie. Gentler, Mitch asked, “Do you need a break?” 

“I-I-I’m f-fi-ine.” He sniffled and cleared his throat, then tried again. “I’m-I’m fine.” 

They’d agreed that Mitch would keep going until Stiles told him to stop. And while Mitch didn’t exactly break that promise… he also didn’t keep it in it’s originally intended spirit. 

Mitch caressed Stiles’ cheek tenderly, thumbing away his tears. When he pushed back into Stiles’ mouth he didn’t even attempt to go all the way, and stopped Stiles when he tried. “Take it easy,” he said, “Just suck. Like I taught you.” 

Stiles curled his tongue around the head of Mitch’s cock, suckling sweetly. He was still sniffling and gasping, but softer now. It was easier to breathe with nothing blocking his throat. He let his eyes fall closed and slipped into the familiarity of sucking Mitch off with no particular goal in mind, shallowly bobbing his head. Occasionally he pulled off to take a deeper breath or two, and while Mitch did keep hold of the nape of his neck, there was no insistence behind it. It was a comforting, grounding touch. 

When Stiles felt calm again, he rested his forehead against Mitch’s hip and mumbled, “Don’t break character.” 

“I know,” Mitch sighed; Stiles could hear the smile in his voice. Mitch pulled Stiles back, gave him a quick once over, then pat his cheek twice; just hard enough to hurt, and redden the side of his face even more. “I want you on the bed. Blindfolded.” 

Stiles nodded his consent. Mitch got the blindfold first, a strip of black bamboo silk, cool and soothing against Stiles’ puffy eyes. He unbuckled the handcuffs and tossed them aside, then picked Stiles’ up with ease. 

Unexpectedly, Mitch dropped him at the foot of the bed, and arranged Stiles so that his head was hanging over the edge. He got a second pair of leather cuffs from the nightstand drawer and put them around Stiles’ wrists; these ones had no chain between them. Stiles was limited to how far he could reach on his own. Fortunately, Mitch left his arms bound in front of him, with his hands resting on his belly. 

“Don’t touch yourself,” Mitch warned. 

Stiles squirmed restlessly when Mitch pulled away from him. He couldn’t see anything through the silk, and had to rely on his hearing to know where Mitch was in the room. Nearly impossible with his blood rushing in his ears. 

Mitch left him there for what had to be over a minute, not making a sound. Leaving Stiles to wait and worry, the anticipation building: what if Mitch was getting something else to use on him? What if he was gone? 

_ What if I’m already being punished because I couldn’t keep myself together?  _

Mitch slapped Stiles again to announce his presence. The sharp sound of it was jolting, more so than the slight pain. He gasped, and Mitch held his mouth open. 

“You’re not finished until I come, and I’m not going easy on you anymore, understand?”

Stiles worked his tongue against his bottom row of teeth, where he could feel Mitch’s thumb holding him open and ready. “Yes sir,” he slurred, and tilted his head farther back for easier access. 

Mitch thrust into his mouth and set a punishing pace. Soon the blindfold was dampened with Stiles’ tears, and the drool running down his cheeks. He had to be a mess by now, his face damp and sticky and red and swollen. 

His throat had to be swollen too, aching and sore from the way Mitch abused it. He didn’t hold back, thrusting all the way in and pulling back, only to do it again, and again, and again. Stiles gagged sometimes and Mitch ignored it, forcing Stiles to work through the reflex. 

Mitch wrapped his free hand around Stiles’ throat and laughed, sounding breathless himself. “I can feel it,” he said. “ _ Fuck _ . If only you could see yourself… maybe next time I’ll record this.”

Stiles whined, high and muffled. Mitch gave him a few seconds to breathe before pushing in and  _ staying,  _ moaning as Stiles’ throat spasmed around his length. 

“You’d like that, wouldn’t you, darling? To see how you look? All splayed out, letting me do whatever I want to you.” 

Stiles couldn’t  _ breathe _ . He reached up blindly, pushing at Mitch’s abdomen, trying to get away. He could feel Mitch breathing hard above him, and his lungs hurt with jealousy. 

“I told you, you’re not done until I come,” Mitch said, making Stiles wait another two seconds before pulling out. Stiles curled onto his side to cough. Mitch held his shoulder with one hand, keeping him from falling off the bed on accident. Stiles could just make out the sound of him jerking off with the other. “Don’t be pathetic, you can take more than that.” When Stiles didn’t immediately respond, Mitch asked, “Can’t you?”

_ Always giving me an out.  _

_ “Ugh. _ ” Stiles groaned and heaved himself onto his back again, his head lolling over the edge of the bed. He couldn’t find his voice to speak; probably for the best. 

Mitch positioned Stiles’ head how he wanted and fucked into his mouth again, staying deep for seconds at a time. He rubbed Stiles’ throat, fascinated that he could feel his cock, and every minute swallow. 

“ _ Fuck. _ ” Stiles knew Mitch was about to come by the way he changed to fast, shallow thrusts again, grinding his cock against Stiles’ tongue. He tried to suck as much as he was able, hollowing his cheeks and swallowing around him. “Deep breath,” Mitch gasped, giving Stiles a moment to inhale before thrusting deep as he came. He squeezed Stiles’ throat tightly, cutting off all chances of oxygen reaching his lungs as he rode out his orgasm. 

If Stiles’ vision was darkening, he couldn’t tell past the blindfold. 

When Mitch was finished he pulled out and helped Stiles sit up. Stiles folded over his knees, gasping and coughing while Mitch rubbed his back comfortingly. When Stiles could breathe normally again he removed the handcuffs but left the blindfold, and moved Stiles up the beds so he could lay on the pillows. Stiles collapsed against them with a groan. He felt so lightheaded, his vision would probably be swimming if he could see. 

Mitch stripped out of his clothes, left them on the floor, and climbed up beside Stiles. He cupped his cheek and pressed a sweet, chaste kiss to his swollen lips. “You did so good for me, sweetheart,” he whispered, taking Stiles’ cock in hand. 

Stiles slumped bonelessly against Mitch, gasping and moaning quietly as Mitch jerked him off, until Stiles spilled over his hand. 

***

Mitch briefly left Stiles to go to the bathroom, and returned with a damp washcloth. Stiles blinked and squinted when Mitch removed the blindfold, the low light of the bedroom too much for his sensitive eyes. 

“How are you feeling?” Mitch asked. He gently scrubbed the washcloth over his skin, wiping away the tears and drool making his face tacky. The cold water was a soothing balm against Stiles’ skin. 

“Everything,” Stiles mumbled. Mitch huffed a soft laugh; Stiles clearly needed more time to come down. 

Mitch finished wiping Stiles down, cleaned himself up, and tossed the washcloth on the nightstand to be dealt with later. For now he laid down beside Stiles and pulled the blanket up over both of them; he ran hot, but Stiles always got cold after a scene, and it made him feel less vulnerable to cover him up after. He kissed Stiles’ forehead and held him close, letting Stiles snuggle into him. 

Mitch ran his hand up and down Stiles’ back, lightly scratching him the way he knew Stiles liked. A slow, soothing repetition that calmed them both. “You were so good for me tonight,” Mitch whispered, dusting a kiss to the top of Stiles’ head.

“Mmm.”

“Do you want me to make you tea, or stay with you awhile longer?”

“Stay…”

“Alright, darling, whatever you want.”

“Kisses.”

Mitch tilted Stiles’ chin up and gave him a gentle kiss. 

***

Mitch pressed a steaming cup of chamomile tea into Stiles’ hands; he’d been drinking a lot of it these past two weeks, to soothe his sore throat. Stiles could tell by the spicy scent that Mitch was drinking chai. He got back into bed with Stiles—the two of them now dressed in pajamas—and asked, “What did you think?” 

Stiles sipped his tea. The post-scene debrief was important, and Mitch knew Stiles had a habit of downplaying the parts he didn’t like or wasn’t comfortable with. Tonight especially he didn’t intend to let Stiles get away with it. 

“I liked it…” Mitch skeptically watched Stiles. “I  _ did.  _ I mean, I didn’t know if I could really do it, but… wow.” Stiles laughed quietly into his tea. 

Mitch smiled, he was proud of Stiles. “You did really good,” he said. Several times, he was sure Stiles was going to tap out—hell, at least twice  _ Mitch  _ had wanted to, if only because he thought Stiles was pushing himself too hard. “But what I actually meant was, what did you think of me treating you like that?”

“I… don’t know.” 

“I know, I know, it’s just…” Stiles trailed off. How was he supposed to explain how he felt? “I’m glad I tried it?”

“Did you like it?”

“I don’t know. Kind of, some of it I did. Did you?”

“I didn’t get anything out of it,” Mitch said. He wasn’t that kind of sadist; he liked to hurt Stiles, but he didn’t like to be cruel while he did so. Verbal abuse had never been his thing. “Being mean to you like that doesn’t do anything for me.” 

“I know, you’re too much of a softie,” Stiles cooed. He cuddled up to Mitch so he could lean into his chest. It was also easier to talk when he didn’t have to look Mitch in the eye—even if he knew he would face no judgement either way. It also put him in the perfect position for Mitch to lean down and press little kisses against his neck. 

“What part did you like?” he asked, his breath ghosting against Stiles’ ear and making him shiver. 

“Uh… When you were saying, um, that you wanted to record me?”

“Oh really?” Stiles could feel Mitch smirk against his skin.

“Yeahhh…. mmm.” Stiles closed his eyes on a sigh, letting his head fall to the side to give Mitch more room to kiss him. Soft, sucking kisses that left behind faint marks. 

“Don’t spill your tea,” Mitch said with an audible smile, drawing Stiles’ attention to the cup about to slip out of his hands. 

“You’re too distracting,” he huffed, righting himself. “But… thank you, for tonight. I think I’ve got it out of my system.”

“Good.” Mitch wrapped his arms around Stiles in a warm hug, reaching up to turn Stiles head to give him a real kiss, just as soft and delicate as before. 

It was an important exploration for him, and now that Stiles had the experience, he knew he didn’t want to include it in future scenes. He liked the sweet way Mitch treated him now. 

“I love you,” Stiles sighed, smiling against Mitch’s lips. 

“I love you, too.” 

**Author's Note:**

> As I said, Stiles is a little more awkward at the end there while talking about things because this is early in their relationship. I alluded to it in the previous fic, but Stiles was in an abusive relationship before Mitch, and part of the second sex scene was Stiles testing the waters with Mitch about being a little meaner to him, acting more uncaring, etc. But like Mitch says, he doesn't really like it. He doesn't *dislike* it, which is why he was willing to try it for Stiles (so it's not one of his hard limits, of which he has several), but he would prefer not to do it. So he's *very* happy when Stiles says he doesn't want to do it again, haha
> 
> Also, this is my 68th work (technically). It *kills* me that I didn't post this as my 69th, so does anyone have any prompts for this AU that I can write next? 
> 
> Also also, it's my birthday in less than three weeks!


End file.
